Of Shepherds and Saviors
by maple-lake
Summary: He knew he couldn't help House so, instead, he saved him.


**Title**: Of Shepherds and Saviors  
**Characters:** Cameron, Wilson, implied Cameron/House  
**Spoilers**: Post – Finding Judas  
**Summary**: _He couldn't help House so, instead, he saved him._

_It is the duty of a good shepherd to shear his sheep, not to skin them.  
_**Tiberius Ceasar**

Her wall was blank. Blank, damn, stupid wall. She'd been trying to find something to hang on it ever since she'd moved into her new place, but nothing had ever seemed quite right. Paintings, photos – even a rather grotesque flower arrangement her mother had sent her. But blank it remained.

Off-white and smooth, if she looked at it long enough it gained an unexpected depth. It usually served as a mental white board for her evenings of medical journals, a place for her to sort out her thoughts before carefully reorganizing them in her mind. Only this night it was proving more torturous than soothing. She was keenly aware of the bottle of red wine that sat unopened on her kitchen counter, and was weighing the amount of energy it would take to get up and open it against its possible benefits when there was a sharp, urgent knock on her door.

She opened it anxiously and was surprised to find a disheveled Wilson on the other side. His hair was windswept and he had long since lost his tie. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hands hung limply at his sides, his right clutching a brown paper bag.

"Can I…come in?" he stammered, looking unsure of himself. She nodded, still worried. Had something happened to House? She wanted to ask him – her jaw ached with the question. But she wouldn't give in so easily.

Once she had shut the door against the creeping cold, they stared at each other across the silence. Wilson looked completely worn and her heart sank a little for his situation – _their_ situation. He too looked as though he was burning to say something. She regarded him carefully with wide eyes. He'd never come to her apartment before and his presence now worried her further.

"I did it." The three simple words elicited a sigh of relief and surprise from her.

"You did-" Though she knew the answer, she needed to hear it from him.

"Tritter. I talked to Tritter."

"Wilson – Wilson, why? I mean, what did you say? What did you do?" Her eyebrows angled low and sharp even as her eyes widened. She felt her breathing quicken, a pang of anxiety trickle down her spine.

His only answer was to reveal the bottle of scotch inside his paper bag and utter the word, "Glasses."

He followed her to the kitchen where she quickly pulled out two glasses, setting them on the counter. Wilson filled his and downed it as Cameron watched in silent sympathy edged with dismay. He repeated his action once more before slamming his glass on the counter and holding the back of his hand up to his mouth as he grimaced against the burning.

"Chase was going to turn him in." Her eyes turned dark at his statement as she felt an angry knot of revulsion forming in the pit of her stomach. Yet he shook his head quickly, imploring her with his eyes to be patient. "He was upset…about the little girl. He figured out what was wrong with her and House didn't even care." She softened her gaze only a little. She'd been there when Chase figured out the case, had stayed long enough to make sure the girl kept all her limbs. But she hadn't sensed such an anger in him as Wilson was reporting.

"So you felt the need to do it first?!" she accused anxiously. He glared at her sharply, stilling his movements, chastising her.

"Chase was going to _bury_ House. He was more than angry. He was going to go in there to Tritter and ruin House's career, his life…"

"And you didn't?" Her tone was skeptical, accusing.

Wilson's eyes grew wide, his eyebrows shooting up, as he pushed himself away from the counter. "_Of course_ not!" His voice seemed to echo off her kitchen walls, cutting through her fear and weariness. Her face softened. She took a deep breath. This was Wilson – House's best friend. She was jumping to unreasonable conclusions due to her…her…her…

Wilson's eyes betrayed his deep sadness as he continued, "I told him enough to keep him fed. For now." A look of disgust crossed his face, and it took Cameron a moment to realize the disgust he harbored was for himself.

"Wilson," she breathed softly. Then, more insistently, she said, "He put pressure on _all_ of us, Wilson – you the most. It was only going to be a matter of time before someone-"

"No. That's not why I did it. I wish it was." He poured himself another glass. Bringing it to his lips slowly, he took a sip then gently placed it back on the counter. His hands planted on his hips, he began to pace the short length of the kitchen. "He almost killed that little girl. He made Cuddy cry."

"How did he-?" Cameron's question was cut off by Wilson's uncomfortable, silencing look. He gave a small shake of his head. Too far, it seemed to say. Though she was curious still, she understood. Their friendship – if that was even the proper term – was based on the most tentative of trusts. Their loyalty to each other, it was understood, would never quite outrank their respective loyalties to _him_.

"He didn't even care when Chase found the answer," Wilson sighed, pausing in his listing to run a hand through his hair in frustration. "House would have destroyed Chase," he mused. Picking up his glass, he took a long drink. "I did it to save him."

"To save Chase?" Cameron asked in quiet confusion after a moment, her forehead crinkling.

"No. _Him_. Of all the reasons I could have – you know, I thought I could stop giving a damn about him. Stop willing to be the sacrifice for the mess of his life. I don't know why the hell I…" He poured himself another glass, raised it to his lips.

"You love him," she said simply, shrugging. Freezing, he looked up at her in confusion. "No, I didn't mean – but you do. And that's why you can't stop." He slowly downed his glass. He looked contemplative. She wondered if what she'd said was any comfort to him, wondered if he could have any comfort now. "You saved him," she offered gently.

He snorted, refilling his glass slowly. "He won't see it that way." After another moment of silence, he turned his gaze on her, long, hard, and quizzical, full of wondering interest. "What did he have on you?"

Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his own. She felt the anxiety in her being replaced by a quiet, dull dread. These next few days would be harder than the previous weeks, she was sure. Wilson had saved them – all of them. He'd done the right thing, the thing none of them could do – but for the wrong reason. He knew he couldn't help House so, instead, he saved him. She knew how he felt.

Pulling the second, empty glass toward her, she filled it slowly. She brought it to her lips, then downed it quickly, unable to keep the bitter look off her face. The feeling of her face involuntarily contorting gave her some measure of satisfaction. A minute passed as Wilson's question continued to hang in the air.

"Two lies," she said softly. "Two lies and a truth."


End file.
